


if i smile with my teeth (bet you'd believe me)

by mxdness



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, F/M, Modern AU, More tags and stuff to come, a noble attempt at humor will be made, kind of a fix-it except for the whole apocalypse thing, lil bit of angst, they're gonna fall in love too don't worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 00:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11196636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxdness/pseuds/mxdness
Summary: No one calls them zombies in the beginning, really- it feels too much like admitting that this underfunded horror movie reality is actually happening -but it catches on. The first time Steve Trevor says it, he's watching the news. He laughs. Zombies, he teases. Who are they paying to make this stuff up, and how much? Which seems really funny until there's a base-wide briefing on the matter.Steve does not laugh after that.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Fake Happy by Paramore

The virus starts in the middle-of-nowhere California, of all places, not New York or London or Tokyo like it does in the movies. 

And at first, it doesn't spread easily. There's only a couple of victims, who are quarantined and studied. The government addresses it vaguely, says it's a bad strain of a bad flu that'll end with the same people it started with, which it doesn't. The scientists and doctors that so confidently reassured people of it's benign nature didn't realize that it would mutate into something nastier, that it transfers nice and easy when it's airborne, that they'll bring it back with them to their labs and their hospitals and their homes. It spreads fast in the suburbs, quicker when it gets to the cities, even more so when you introduce air travel to the situation. 

No one calls them zombies in the beginning, really- it feels too much like admitting that this underfunded horror movie reality is actually happening -but it catches on. The first time Steve Trevor says it, he's watching the news. He laughs. _Zombies_ , he teases. _Who are they paying to make this stuff up, and how much?_ Which seems really funny until there's a base-wide briefing on the matter.

Steve does not laugh after that.

.

He calls his mom, first, to tell her that he's okay, not infected, hasn't even seen one of the things- the Reanimated, officials call them, the _zombies_ -in person yet. 

He calls her every day after that, too, and asks for a brief leave when she says everything is _oh, just fine, I'll be alright_ , and it gives him the worst feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

.

She's not just fine, of course.

.

His mom asks him if he's got a gun, which he does, always does, why does she need it? She shows him the mottled purple-red skin just above her ankle and all Steve can say is _no no no no_ over and over, shaking his head. She takes his hand in hers, which is sweaty and trembling, and asks him to end it before she turns into one of those things. She doesn't want that to be her, she says, doesn't want to hurt anyone else if it can stop here, now. 

Steve refuses to, for a while, and she starts showing symptoms like they've talked about on the news, like he heard the gruesome details of in that briefing. _Wait for a cure_ , he begs her, _for anything. Please._ She just gives him a preemptive goodbye:

_I love you, I'm proud of you, always._

.

They say there's no cure. When the gunshot echoes from the other room, the tears at the corners of his eyes sting, but he's not surprised. He would've done the same. 

.

Steve tries to go back to the base after that, back to work and organization and discipline and the _order_ that you tend to crave in a lawless, chaotic situation like this one. He does not get it. It falls to the dust like everything else, and he is left with nothing but bullets and a bleeding heart. 

But he's a soldier. He makes due.


	2. woke up on the wrong side of reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Young and Menace by Fall Out Boy

It only takes a couple of weeks for cities to go lights-out, less for people to panic and kill each other before the Reanimated can. California is chaos, the _world_ is chaos. And like a coward, Steve runs. And it's- God, it's selfish, Steve knows. He wants to stay and help and re-establish some kind of order, but he's just one man against the world.

Every night, guilt weighs down his chest until he falls asleep to avoid the feeling.

.

He sleeps with his gun under the pillow next to a box of bullets.

.

Three months after his mom is gone, Steve walks until he reaches Las Vegas. It's like some empty, war-torn hellscape; corpses lining the streets, cars abandoned in the middle of roads, buildings and homes broken into and ransacked, the telltale signs of fires, bullet casings on the ground.

The hotel he eventually finds has blood stains in the hallway, and his breath grows a little faster behind his antiviral mask. That night, Steve sees someone reanimate for the first time. He shoots them in the head, vomits, and promptly leaves Las Vegas.

.

He finds a dog when he passes through Overton, Nevada. It's not a big, tough, helpful breed like a German Shepherd or a Boxer, but a Beagle. It won't stop following him around, no matter how far or how fast he goes, so Steve finally breaks and squats down to scratch its head. She starts wagging her tail and licking his face, and it's the first time he can remember smiling since the world got turned on its axis.

"I've gotta give you a name, huh?" Steve says around a mouthful of granola bar, walking in the middle of some dusty two-lane highway. The dog whines and wags her tail. He smiles, shakes his head and throws the dog a piece of his food.

"Wilson," he decides. "What do you think? Too ironic?"

The dog- Wilson, now -tilts her head at the name, but keeps crunching on the granola bar. "Yeah, I think it's pretty cute," Steve nods. He's talking to a dog, sure, but he feels a little less crazy with her around.

A little more human.

.

Steve doesn't really run into zombies, much less people, throughout dry, deserted Nevada. It's just him, Wilson, and a backpack trucking though town after town, only stopping to rest or scavenge for supplies.

He stops, here and there, tries to appreciate some of the sights; he still wants to see the world, even if it's a dumpster fire.

"Hey, Wil," Steve calls, "C'mere. Check this out."

He's sitting 6,000 feet above the ground, legs swinging over the edge of the Grand Canyon. She lopes over to him, and he catches and holds her tight- he still hasn't picked up a leash, and would rather she didn't fall in. "This is pretty sweet, huh?" She wiggles excitedly at his words. They sit there for a long time, Wilson curled up in Steve's lap, until the sun starts to set.

In that moment, he feels like the last man on earth.

.

He's not.

.

Steve's running from a pack of Reanimated- since when did they travel like that? -in Phoenix, Arizona, Wilson cradled in his arms. He's out of bullets and fairly certain that, yeah, this is how he's going to die, until he spots a ransacked 7-Eleven. It's getting dark, and the zombies are just slow enough for him to duck inside and hide in the bathroom, hopefully losing them in the process.

Steve sets a whining Wilson down on top of the counter and tries at the door handle for the bathroom; it's locked, and his heart jumps into his throat. Wilson barks, and he shushes her with shaking hands.

"Shit, shit, _shit_ ," he chants and starts to pace. "This is bad, Wilson, this is really bad." She wags her tail. "Oh, very funny," Steve snarks. He does the best quick thinking he can and grabs the broom behind the counter, and makes the poorest excuse for an emergency lock on the front door he's ever seen.

Steve grabs Wilson and ducks behind a nearby empty shelf, tries not to make too much noise stepping on loose trail mix and broken glass. When he sits and tries to listen for any signs the zombies might've found him, it takes him a moment to realize the sound of breathing isn't coming from him, but someone an aisle over.

He tries not to scream, and passes out instead.

.

Steve wakes up to Wilson licking his face, and someone looming above him. A woman. A zombie? Both? Briefly, he thinks, if she is a zombie, it's- listen, it's not the worst way he could go; she's so beautiful that she doesn't even look _real_. 

Eventually he manages, "Wow."

She looks at him intently, scanning his face and then the rest of him, probably for any bite marks or signs of infection. Then, she smiles wide, and he feels his heart skip a beat.

"You are a man," she says cheerfully.

"Yeah. Yes. Do I, uh, not like one?" Steve asks, brow furrowed.

"I mean, you are not Reanimated. Not a zombie."

"Oh. Nope. Not a zombie," and he couldn't sound less convincing if he tried. In his defense, he hasn't spoken to anyone that's not a dog in months.

"I've been traveling for some time, and I've yet to see another person," she explains. Her smile wanes at that, and he's got the strangest urge to give her a hug.

"Yeah. Me either," he says, sitting up.

She moves from over him and offers her hand. He shakes it.

"Diana Prince."

"Steve Trevor. Glad to meet someone among the living."

Diana grins. "The feeling is mutual."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know I said I would update last week, but I ended up re-writing this chapter about a dozen times to fit the tone that I set with the prologue, while trying to keep things a little more lighthearted, and it took just about forever. The vibe ended up coming out a little last-man-on-earth-y and it's shorter than I intended, but I kinda like it. Hopefully everyone enjoyed- kudos and comments are appreciated as always, and I would love to hear any suggestions about where I should take this story!


	3. if you wanna stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *throws 2.5k of crappy dialogue and a poor excuse for fluff at you*

They stick it out for the night in the 7-Eleven, a little awkward and a lot sweaty from the Arizona heat. A large part of Steve is praying all of the zombies just friggin' _melt_ , however improbable that might be. It would certainly make things a hell of a lot easier.

So would a drink, probably.

Diana's sleeping across from him on the floor, using her backpack as a pillow. He feels like a creep for staring, but it's not just because she's beautiful- she's also wonderfully, blessedly _human_. And he wants to remember what that looks like. Just in case.

.

Steve wakes up in a cold sweat with the image of his mother shaking, skin pale and eyes bloodshot burned behind his eyelids, the sound of that gunshot still echoing in his head. He sits up quickly with a crick in his neck, squints his eyes at Wilson curled up by his feet, and tries to shake the constant uneasy, guilty feeling that follows him these days.

"Are you okay?"

He starts at the voice, turns to his right. Diana's sitting cross-legged across from him leaning against the shelf behind her, hair out of its french braid and hanging loose around her shoulders. Concern is etched into her features, trail mix in the palm of her hand.

"Yeah," he says, rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just a bad dream."

Her brows knit at that, mouth down turned. "I'm sorry," she tells him. "I get them too."

Steve rolls a shoulder under his hand. "Really?" he says, though he's not all that surprised. Nightmares seem like they come with the territory.

She nods and pops an almond in her mouth, looks at him like she's pondering something. Steve is suddenly very aware of the state of his hair and considers how long it's been since he shaved.

"I think The Walking Dead glamorized this situation a little too much," Diana finally says, and it feels so out of place in the conversation that he laughs out loud. It's quiet and a little rusty, but it makes his chest feel warm, helps him shake the feeling of his dream.

He smiles and pulls his knees to his chest and says, "I couldn't agree more."

The corner of her mouth lifts, and she leans forward to grab his hand. On instinct he wants to lean in to meet her, but he isn't looking to come off like a total asshole. It's enough that he woke up and she was even still _there_.

He really, really doesn't want to screw this up. So he sits a little too still, eyes a little too wide. She just pours him some trail mix. He blinks. "Thanks."

"You need some energy if we're going to get anywhere today, right?" Diana grins.

Steve tilts his head. "You want to come with me?"

She looks at him like he's crazy. "Of course. Survivors need to stick together," she says simply.

"Okay. Yeah. Stick together. Safety in numbers," he nods, and pretends like his heart isn't pounding and his palms aren't so sweaty that the chocolate chips in the trail mix are melting.

"Safety in numbers," she echoes.

He's not the last man on earth anymore, and this whole thing, Steve thinks, is going to take some getting used to.

.

They start walking that morning when the sun rises, not a cloud above them, the sky painted orange in the morning light. He's not really sure where they're heading, just that the numb feeling of putting one leg in front of the other is one of the only things that helps him to forget the exact state of the world.

It's quiet for a while, too, though not entirely uncomfortable- just the sound of their feet on asphalt, and the pitter-patter of Wilson's paws.

But since he can't stop trying to place her accent, "Where are you from?"

Diana squints up at the sky and says, "Not from here. Originally, Greece. I moved to Vancouver for work, and the world became a- what's a good word for it?"

"Dumpster fire?" he offers.

"Yes. A dumpster fire. So now I'm here. With you." Steve coughs. "And Wilson," she adds.

"I, uh, heard Vancouver was bad," he says.

"I heard LA was worse."

Steve bites his lip at that, bombarded with flashes of screaming and sirens, gunshots and the stench of rotting corpses; the cool metal of a gun in his hand, the panic that started to eat away at him.

"It wasn't pretty," he says.

.

Diana takes a sharp right down a shaded street out of nowhere, grabs his hand and pulls him with her.

"What's going on?"

"Be quiet," she says, shoving him down behind a parked Honda. She picks up Wilson, too, and puts the dog right next to her. "There's a couple Reanimated," Diana points, leaning around him. And she's right- there's at least four.

He takes a deep breath.

"What should we do?" Steve asks, pulls the gun out of his back pocket.

"I don't know. I don't know," she says, and she's reaching for a pistol he hadn't realized was tucked into her waistband. "Wait here? See where they go?"

Diana tugs the antiviral mask hanging around her neck up and over her mouth; Steve follows suit. Reanimated like these aren't able to spread anything to you unless you're in close enough quarters to get bitten or scratched or come in contact with bodily fluids, but clearly neither of them feel like taking any chances.

She's crouched behind him, looking over his shoulder as the zombies stumble and stagger, slow but certain. They have bloodshot, searching eyes, parts of their faces and bodies rotted. The way they move is unnatural, frighteningly inhuman. And, Steve notices, there's blood on their mouths. It looks new.

The hair on the back of his neck rises as they start to move quicker, set in their direction.

"Diana," he says, eyes not moving off of the group. With a jolt, he realizes they're starting to run. "Diana, we need to go. _Now!_ " She's on her feet with Wilson in her arms before he can finish his sentence, and Steve takes off so fast after her that he's not sure he can keep up with his own legs; the only thing that keeps him on balance is the stamping of feet behind him. These Reanimated are moving quicker than any he's ever seen. Has the virus mutated again? Made them faster, stronger? More infectious?

The thought of it makes him want to throw up or pass out or both, neither of which he can afford to do at the moment.

Diana pulls him out of thought, mere steps ahead of him. "This way, airport!" she points.

They both dash towards the chain link fence surrounding the area. "Here," Steve says, taking Wilson from her. "Get over. Hurry!"

She nods rapidly and starts to climb the fence, throwing her jacket over the barbed wire. Waiting, heart in his throat, he throws a glance over his shoulder. The zombies are quickly gaining, their awkward movements the only thing slowing them down. Wilson yips nervously in his arms; if she can sense his fear, he thinks, they probably can too.

Diana drops down on the other side, hands up to take Wilson. With a foot up on the fence, he's just high enough to toss the dog to her; Diana catches her soundly, and Steve breathes a quick sigh of relief. But he can still hear the quick footsteps behind him, the sound fueling him to scale the fence as fast as possible.

"Steve, hurry!" she yells. And he's trying, God he's _trying_ \- but his arm is stuck, the fabric of his shirt caught in a barb sticking through Diana's coat. And he's not going to die like this, halfway over a fence.

Steve tries to steady himself as much as he can at the top, fence wavering slightly beneath him, and aims his gun at the fast approaching figures. One, two, three shots and two of them are down, and Steve hates this. He _hates_ it- it feels wrong, like killing a civilian. But like most things in this hellish world now: you do what you have to do.

Another round, this time from Diana behind the fence.

Two more down, one left. A staggering, bloody mess of what used to be a man, almost right beneath him now, fingers reaching out to grip at the metal of the fence. When Diana shoots him in the head, it leaves a dark red splatter on his pant leg.

Chest heaving, Steve tucks the gun back into his waistband, yanks his sleeve out of the barbed wire, and drops down to the other side of the fence. He hands Diana back her jacket. "Thanks," she manages, then pulls him into a tight hug. She's shaking.

"You never get used to that," she says as she steps back. Steve nods in agreement and looks down at his hands. The blood under his left hand's fingernails is his own, from gripping his right forearm so hard for a steady aim- bright red crescent moons showcase his efforts.

"We should get cleaned up," Steve suggests, quiet. He crouches down to calm Wilson, scratches her behind the ear.

"Water's in that direction," Diana tilts her head.

"Lead the way."

.

It's hot out, but the water is _cold_.

Steve tamps down a yelp when he steps a foot in the water, and Diana laughs at him, already waist deep.

"So you're afraid of cold water? Even the dog is in here," she teases, pointing towards the shore where Wilson is laying in the shallow water.

"I'm not afraid. It's just- it's _freezing_ , Diana, I don't know how you're in there," he shakes his head. She moves deeper in and ducks under the water, like she's proving a point.

"I get it, I get it. I'm coming in. And if you think I'm not about to splash you, you're very, very wrong," he warns. He makes it up to his shoulders before he loses motive to swim after her. "A little afraid," he concedes, teeth chattering. "And to think, I used to be in the military."

Diana swims closer to him, wet hair slicked back from her face, undershirt clinging tight to her skin. Maybe it's the adrenaline or the cold or both that's making him crazy, but he wants to lean forward and kiss her.

"You were with the army?"

"Air Force," he says and splashes water onto his face to clear his head, runs his fingers through his hair.

"I used to be a museum curator," she offers.

"Really?" he asks skeptically. "You seem too exciting to have a job at a museum."

Diana splashes a hand in his direction. "Hey, it was interesting stuff."

"I believe you, I believe you," he says, and gets to rinsing off the dried blood and dirt from his body. After he's done as best he can, Steve swims back to shore. Fishing the pocketknife out of his backpack, he sits back down next to a content Wilson in the water and holds the knife at an angle to shave.

Diana, twisting the water out of her hair, sits beside him. "I've only ever seen people do that in movies," she says. "Is it safe?"

"Um, probably not," he surmises, but the scratch of the knife against his skin is oddly comforting.

She watches quietly as he continues, dipping the blade in the water and raising it back up to his face again. He uses his reflection in the water as a guide, and he can tell it's not going to be his best work.

"Can I try?" Diana asks, noting his obvious struggle at a section along his jaw.

"Be careful," he says, but hands her the knife without a second thought. He hasn't known her for long, not at all, but it doesn't feel like it. Maybe they were friends in a past life; whatever it is, Steve's not sure. But he trusts her.

He watches from the corner of his eye as she works silently, face a couple inches from his own. He blames the goosebumps on the residual chill of the water.

"There," Diana says when she's done, hands him back the knife.

When he takes it their fingers brush and- he's turned into a damn schoolgirl, is what's happened. He shakes his head and gets to his feet, managing a shaky, "Thanks."

"Sure," she nods, standing too. Side-by-side she's only a few inches shorter than he is, and Steve's got a distinct feeling that she could kick his ass. He already knows she's got good aim.

Steve pulls his clothes back on and tries not to stare as Diana does the same, firmly _not_ inspired to imagine her doing that in any other scenarios.

"We should find somewhere to stay for the night," she says as she pulls her shirt over her head.

"Yeah. Yes. We should- we should do that," he stutters.

"That's what I said," she smiles bemusedly, pulling on her pants.

Steve shoulders his backpack and turns on his heel so she doesn't see the blush spreading over his cheeks, clear as day now that his face isn't covered in stubble.

"Where are you going?" she calls, and he can just _hear_ the amusement in her voice.

"Oh my God, you're pathetic," he mutters to himself. "I'm pathetic," he says to Wilson, trailing happily by his side. Then behind him to Diana, "Just getting a head start!"

Her laughter echoes behind him, loud and bright, and he walks a little faster.

.

They walk a couple of miles after Diana catches up with him, and settle on a Holiday Inn. There's no broken glass or bodies or bullet shells in the parking lot, just a handful of abandoned cars and beer bottles. It's not totally safe- nothing is -but it'll work for a night.

Inside, Diana spots a half open door of a room on the top floor of the hotel- a suite with some luggage laying around, but nothing too shady.

"Make sure you lock the door," Steve tells her from the doorway as she sets her things down.

She furrows her brow at him. "Are you not staying?"

Steve eyes the only bed in the room. "I just didn't want to...presume. You've only known me for, like, a _day_ ," he explains.

"Hey, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

She pins him with a look.

"Okay, okay. Trying to be a gentleman," he says, closing and locking the door behind him.

Diana laughs. "I don't think the usual rules apply to the- what did you call it? -the dumpster fire that we're living in."

"You make a good point," Steve says, sitting on the bed to unlace his boots. The sun is setting already, the day behind them in a flash. He lays on the bed next to Diana, Wilson tucked between them, and it doesn't take long for all the adrenaline of the day's events to dissipate, her steady breathing a call to sleep.

The uneasy, guilty feeling doesn't tug at him so hard, and he drifts with the sound of Diana's laughter echoing in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh. So. This fic is a Mess. And I'm really trying to update weekly, I swear to you, but ideas for this are just not cooperating with me- if you have any on where you want me to take this please, oh my god, please share them. Also, a huge thank you to all of the wonderful, kind people who have commented or left kudos or bookmarked this ridiculous story, you're all champs and I love you. Until next time!


	4. there's bones in my closet, but you hang stuff anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Guillotine by Jon Bellion

Steve wakes up slower than he has in a long time, soft white light pouring in through the sheer curtains. And after the unsettling peace of his brief consciousness passes, he starts at the feeling of Diana's arm tucked under his left side. His heart trips up for a second, and then again when he realizes she can probably feel it against her forearm. Her hand is against his back, long fingers splayed against his shoulder blade; Steve's got one hand curled around her bicep, the other tucked under his pillow. And this, as wonderful as it appears on the surface- which is really, _really_ wonderful -seems...precarious, like he's edging over boundaries they haven't talked about yet.

So he looses his grip on Diana's arm and gently, quietly removes himself from the bed. Steve takes a deep breath- _situation neutralized_ -and shoves any lingering feelings aside. He'll get to them another time.

.

Diana wakes not much later, after Steve's managed to brush his teeth with water from his canteen and run a hand through his bed-mussed hair. She sits up, sheets pooling around her waist, and his mouth does not go dry, and he definitely doesn't start daydreaming.

"How long have you been awake?" she asks after a moment.

"Not that long," Steve shrugs, casual. Very, very casual, like they hadn't been tangled in their sleep less than an hour ago.

"Hope I didn't wake you up," Diana says, brow furrowed in concern.

Steve, ever the wordsmith, "Nah. No. 'Course not. You were fine."

"That's good," she smiles, leans forward with her elbows on her thighs to pet Wilson.

"So I was thinking," Steve starts, pointing to the map he's got spread out in front of him on the floor, "that we should get out of Arizona."

"God, yes," she says without any hesitation.

"What do you think? Southern California, Mexico? I might need to jack a plane, but we could get to the East Coast if we really wanted to."

Diana narrows her eyes at him. "Hold on. You can actually fly a plane? You could've had one this whole time?"

He nods and fiddles with the creased corner of the map. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Then why didn't you?" she asks bemusedly.

"I never really had a reason to leave. I mean- God, I wasn't planning on living this long, you know? So why bother?" he pauses, thinks about the ugly mess of feelings in his chest and how he thought he'd die in Las Vegas. "Sorry. Not exactly upbeat conversation."

And Steve's not sure when Diana migrated onto the floor, but she's sitting in front of him before he can finish his sentence. She wraps him in a hug that's not entirely comfortable, both of them kneeling on the hard floor, but Steve doesn't think there's a place he'd rather be in the world right now.

She pulls back first, but grabs one of his hands and sets the other against his cheek. "I know we haven't known each other for that long, but I care about you, Steve. And I just- I just want to say that I'm glad you made it this far. And that we ran into each other."

He flicks his eyes up from their interlocked hands and resists the urge to melt. "Me too. I..." he shakes his head, looks back down and runs a thumb over her knuckles. "I don't know where I'd be without you right now. Dead, probably."

"Hey, don't say that," Diana tells him firmly, tilts his chin up so their faces are level. Steve nods, bites at the inside of his cheek. Something hangs sweet and heavy in the air between them. He's leaning in unconsciously, her lips inches from his own, but-

"We should probably figure out where we're going," Steve says quietly, eyes trained on her mouth.

"Yeah. Okay," Diana nods, pulls back and turns toward the map on the floor, already focused.

She doesn't let go of his hand until they stand up.

.

It's one hell of a walk to the Air Force base in Albuquerque:

"Seven days?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my God, we have to get a working car."

"Yeah."

.

They find a pick-up truck without a fried battery after a handful of hours of searching; it's got a half tank of gas and a sticky brake pedal, but it'll do. It's a stick-shift, which Diana doesn't know how to drive.

"Is this the only thing you don't know how to do?" Steve asks with a grin.

"I just never got around to it," she shrugs, feet up on the dash in the passenger seat and Wilson curled in a ball on her lap.

He glances at the expanse of road in front of them. "Do you want me to teach you?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, why not? It's not like there's any other cars to worry about," Steve shrugs.

Diana smiles excitedly. "Scoot," she says, pulls him to the middle seat and climbs over him with an amount of grace she shouldn't have in the tiny cab of the truck- a move that makes him clench his jaw in focus on just about _anything_ else. "Okay," she turns to him with both hands on the wheel. "Where do I start?"

.

He has her get used to working with a third pedal, first, shifting the gears for her when she gets up to speed. She gets adorably frustrated the first handful of times she kills it, the truck coming to a jerky stop.

"It's not usually something you learn in a day," Steve offers in consolation, but Diana is _determined_.

He's got his hand over hers as a guide now, but quicker than he'd expected: "You've got this down pretty well. Think you can shift?"

"I've got it," she nods and she really, actually does.

Steve leans back in his seat. "I'm convinced there's nothing you can't do."

"That's not true," she says, but the way she's smiling makes him think otherwise.

"Oh, really? Tell me _one thing_ you're bad at."

Diana taps her fingers against the steering wheel for a second. "Singing. I can't sing. At all," she says.

"Alright, fine. I stand corrected. There's only one thing you can't do," he teases.

"Well?" she smiles, looking over at him. "Are you not going to tell me what you're bad at?"

"I'm great at everything. Above average," he points to himself. Diana reaches over to swat at his hand. "Whoa! Okay, okay. Eyes on the road," he laughs. "Uh, I'm an awful cook. Are we even?"

She glances at him, eyes sparkling. "For now."

.

They stop to siphon gas and pick up snacks in a small town a couple of hours from where they last were, parked over by a gas station against a cliff. (Diana kills it one more time before she can put the truck in park. "Damn it," she mutters. He nudges her shoulder and says, "Practice makes perfect.") After they scan the area for any immediate threats and gather what they can- from both the gas station and surrounding cars- they head back to their own.

"I feel like we're teenagers. Parking or something, you know?"

Diana laughs from the driver's seat. "In midday?"

"Ah, same idea," he says.

She hums. After a minute, "Did you have a girlfriend? Before, you know, everything?"

"Yeah," Steve nods, eyes out the window at the clouds dotting the sky. "She broke up with me right before Valentine's Day, actually," he laughs. "I had a reservation, flowers- everything set up, and she just texted me that it wasn't working out anymore."

"That's...kind of the worst."

"Yeah," Steve smiles. "It sucked. But I got to eat all the chocolate, so." He clears his throat and asks, "What about you?"

"I was more focused on my career than anything," Diana says. "No time for relationships. Which sounds really ironic now that I have all the time in the world." She shrugs, pulls her knees to her chest.

"I know. I've never had this much free time in my life."

"Hey, you could have worse company," Diana tilts her head at him, grinning, and he really couldn't agree more.

.

Diana makes the call to stay in the town overnight when the sky begins its earliest stages of darkening. "No rush. All the time in the world, remember?" she says. "How about dinner?"  
.

She points out the tallest apartment building in the town as a picnic spot, which is only a handful of stories, but there's a ladder to the fire escape on the side; she says something about a view of the sunset from the top, which there is, bright orange over the dirt-brown horizon. There's the remains of what probably used to be a rooftop garden and a couple of empty beer bottles and cigarette butts on the terrace, and, most importantly, no rotting corpses.

"What are you in the mood for?" Steve asks, digging in his backpack for his remaining MRE's; he's got his unzipped sleeping bag spread out for them on the ground, hoping to avoid any run-ins with broken glass. "I've got spaghetti, beef stew, lemon pepper tuna, and chicken pesto pasta."

"Are you sure you want to waste those right now?" Diana asks, concern lacing her voice.

"Their purpose is to be eaten, so it's not a waste. Which one do you want? I can hear your stomach growling, Diana."

Her face reddens as she rolls her eyes. "Tuna."

He hands the package to her and keeps the spaghetti for himself, shoving the remaining two back in his bag. "They're not the greatest cold, but. You know. Dinner's served," he shrugs apologetically.

She nudges his knee with her foot. "Hey, this is great, Steve. Anything that isn't canned is gourmet at this point."

"I'll toast to that," he agrees, knocking his canteen against hers. Something springs into his mind at the noise; Steve reaches over to dig through his bag again, and- "There we are."

Diana looks thoroughly confused. "It's a tape player. Now we can have dinner, music, the works." Her face lights up.

"My iPod died months ago."

"Batteries," Steve states, shaking the player in his hand. "I sifted through some things at this thrift store- I completely forgot until just now, actually -and found a bunch of tapes. I wasn't able to keep that many for space reasons, but I've got some decent stuff," he says, pulling out a small stack. She picks out a Frank Sinatra album from the pile, and the opening notes of _Strangers In The Night_ crackle from the speakers.

Steve chews thoughtfully on his food as the melody wraps around him, familiar. He puts down his plastic fork and stands. "Do you want to dance?" he asks Diana.

She looks surprised but nods, "Sure."

He holds out a hand and tugs her upward, one hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder. Diana looks up at him, taming a smile by biting her bottom lip. Jesus. Steve uses all the brain power he's got to make sure he doesn't trip over his own feet when she rests her head on his shoulder. "This isn't really dancing," she tells him.

"Oh?" he asks, steps back so he can twirl her around. She laughs, bright and cheery.

"No," she grins. "This is swaying." And after a quiet, static-filled moment as one song fades into another, "It's nice." Diana lifts her head from his shoulder and looks up at him again.

And it's that distant mindlessness of the moment, with her face half-lit by the fading orange sunlight, dark eyes shining, that makes him kiss her. It's stupid and he can't take it back, sure, but he doesn't regret it.

He doesn't regret the way she leans into him and the way her fingers twist in the bottom of his shirt, or what his hand feels like pressed against her cheek and how he finally feels like he can breathe.

"Sorry," he pulls away with a deep breath, takes his hand back and sets it on her shoulder again.

"Steve," Diana shakes her head fondly and kisses him again. And he really doesn't think that he'll be able to get the soft, sunlit image of her leaning towards him out of his mind, lips soft, hands warm, nose pressed against his own.

So yeah, Steve thinks absently as he and Diana kiss through the crescendo of the music behind them, he could definitely have worse company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen...I'm a sucker for Steve being ridiculously head over heels for Diana!! Sue me!! 
> 
> Anyway apologies for this being super, super late. Writer's block was kicking my ass, and I didn't want to post something just for the sake of posting. But hey, they kissed! And don't worry, I'm planning on getting to the zombie-slaying action sooner than later. I wanted them to have at least one peaceful chapter lol. But as always, thank you guys so much for your lovely comments and kudos- they never fail to make me smile! So please keep leaving them, along with your suggestions on where you want to see this train wreck head. Until next time, which is hopefully sooner, come yell at me on[ tumblr!](https://cranesintheskies.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the kind of serious beginning to this! I'm expecting the rest of the story to be more lighthearted, but I had to get this little piece of background out of the way to set the stage. I promise I'll get more into the details of the virus and the types of zombies that exist in this world really soon, too. I'm actually hoping to post the second chapter sometime this week, since I already have a good chunk of it written. Kudos and comments are beyond appreciated!


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